


Not Afraid

by PrideGifts (Laeviss)



Series: Wranduin! [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/PrideGifts
Summary: On their way to Shado-Pan Monastery, a road collapses, and Wrathion and Anduin find themselves trapped alone in a shrine in the heart of the mountain.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756381
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	Not Afraid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feralundead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralundead/gifts).



The back of Wrathion’s head hit the ground with a hollow ‘thud.’ Before his eyes could adjust to his surroundings, a cloud of dirt, snow, and debris swept over them. Coughing and sputtering, he swiped the largest of the rocks from his chest. He turned his head, spitting, and digging his claw-like nails into the earth to steady himself. A supporting grasp rose to meet him, and he tapped into it: into the mountain’s roots plunging beneath him in all directions.

He huffed, sucked down a gasp, and then pressed himself up to sitting. Leaning his back against the jagged wall, he willed away the spinning nausea that threatened to overpower him. Swallowing the bitterness clinging to the tip of his tongue, he pursed his lips, inhaled a few breaths, and waited as the last gasps of wreckage settled around his knees. Cracking yielded to silence, and silence to coolness. The next breath he drew was clean and even. The details of the room around him fell into place.

He was pinned in a narrow passageway, cut between two boulders angled slightly to funnel into a larger chamber. The chamber itself was rough, but not without a trace or two of past visitors. In one corner, a small stone statue perched on a shelf. The soft glow of Wrathion’s eyes flickered in its garnet gaze. Beneath it, melted wax streamed outward between cracks in a carved jade stand, spindly appendages frozen under a thin coating of ash. 

To the right of the altar, the path turned, and at the end of the corridor, a rock or two tumbled off an indistinguishable pile. The hollow thumps sent another puff of dust into the air. Wrathion’s chest clenched and his eyes flew open. Shoving his palms against the wall, he pushed forward, staggering onto his feet, and stumbling into the passage. 

With every stale breath, his haze waned, and he recalled the cold wind that had whipped at his cheeks moments before. He had been winding up the side of a mountain following a tottering, over-packed queue of grummles. Left and Right had been walking behind him, and through the towers of boxes and satchels and unwrapped luckydos, he had caught glimpses of the black palanquin he knew to be carrying the Prince of Stormwind.

The same lacquered wood palanquin that now poked out between a pile of dirt and a boulder the size of Wrathion’s torso. 

The dragon's heart clenched and fell. The blood drained from his cheeks, and another wave of nausea threatened to overcome him. Digging his nails into the rock, he tugged with all the strength his mortal form could muster. It didn’t budge. He reached deeper, not stopping until his forehead rested against the stone and his slender arms disappeared to either side of it. 

This time when he pulled, he pulled into the material itself. It crumbled in his embrace. Caught off guard by the sudden loss of girth, he swung forward, then stumbled back as minerals rained between his splayed fingers. Digging his heels into the sand was the only thing that kept him upright. Heaving a sigh, he wiped his arms on his pants, then knelt and tugged at the black wooden pole. It broke in his grasp. He tossed it aside, and then pulled loose a plank to reveal a single pale arm and a blood-soaked pant leg hanging out from the middle of the pile. 

His pulse surged in his ears as he tore away piece after piece of the broken vehicle: first a panel, then a bloody pillow, then an open backpack with half its contents peppered through the mess. Closing his fingers around a slender shoulder, he pinched, and the hand swinging between them clenched. He gave the palanquin another push; the prince rolled out from under it. He tumbled to the tips of Wrathion’s boots, his face streaked with blood and his eyes squeezed closed. 

Bending down, the dragon gave him a gentle shake, then another. Finally, the human’s blue eyes fluttered open. Anduin tilted his chin, and his pupils widened; Wrathion could see the shine of his own red slits reflected in their expanse as they processed the details of the dragon’s face. Wrathion opened his mouth, but Anduin cut him off, whispering his name through bated breath: “Wrathion.”

“Oh, excellent, you’re alive.”

“What happened?” Anduin clamored for purchase in the sand, bending his elbows, then forcing his chest upright. A drop of blood rolled off his temple and spattered on his rumpled white pauldrons. He turned to stare at it, flinching ever-so-slightly away from the dragon’s feet.

The small change in posture didn’t pass unnoticed. 

Inhaling and clenching his teeth, Wrathion waved his hand towards the rubble. “The road, it seems, has collapsed, at least in parts. I suppose these grummle paths are not accustomed to carts of this size and weight.” He punctuated his words with a hollow laugh, but when he shot Anduin a glance he found him pressed against the wall, shoulders drawn, and brows furrowed. 

The dragon frowned, hurrying to follow the observation with what he hoped was a gentle “Not that it's anyone’s fault, of course.”

The lines between Anduin’s eyes didn’t soften. He hunched, staring at his blood-stained tunic. “How far did we fall? Are we the only ones who…?”

“I’m…unsure,” the dragon answered carefully. Resting his weight on his forward knee, he gestured back towards the cascade that had carried him down the passage. The dust had settled, and the flakes of snow that had clung to his armor had long since melted.

“As far as I can tell, we are alone, though I would feel better knowing my agents weren’t buried behind that.” He hadn’t expected his voice to crack; he coughed and cleared his throat. “But I suppose their whereabouts remain to be seen.”

“And what of my guards?”

“Not here, as far as I know,” Wrathion admitted. _Neither living nor dead_ threatened to follow, but he bit back the words before they left his tongue. Fear already trembled in the space between them. The last thing he needed was to send the mortal into a panic. 

Wrathion shifted forward, then sat back on his heels. When he returned his gaze to Anduin’s face, he winced. The stream of blood from the human’s head still flowed fresh, catching in his blond brows, rolling down his cheeks, clinging to the tip of his pallid chin. Wrathion opened his mouth to comment, but his voice faltered as Anduin leaned back and lifted his hand. A few halfhearted flashes of gold sparked at his fingertips, illuminating his mud-caked locks, but dissipating before they reached the wound.

Anduin’s bottom lip trembled. He bit down, and squeezed closed his eyes. 

“My dear,” Wrathion tried, “I don’t think you’re in any state to—”

“Please, Wrathion, just give me a moment.” The human exhaled, then widened his palm and murmured under his breath. Again, light twinkled at the tip of a digit or two, but it wasn’t even enough to chase back Wrathion’s red-tinged glow. When Anduin touched his face, he left a streak of dirt where the heel of his hand had been. He shuddered. Wrathion sighed, unlatching the ruby pin that held his turban in place and unwinding it in hasty circles from the top of his head.

The cloth came loose, and his curls bounced free. With a shake, he nudged the human’s bare hand away. “Prince Anduin, please,” he pleaded, though not unkindly. Their fingers knocked a few times, but Anduin finally withdrew. His wrist dropped, defeated, to his lap. His blond head rested against the wall. 

Wrathion clenched the cloth tighter in his hand, swiping back the human's hair, and pressing against the inch-long gash running from his scalp to the top of his headband. After a few gasps, Anduin relaxed beneath him. He cleaned the mud from his skin as best he could before re-applying pressure. Red bloomed through the white silk between his fingers. 

If only he could sanitize the cut. He glanced back to his point of entry, and then left at the rubble that had piled atop of Anduin. Among the rocks and splinters of wood he glimpsed the occasional mortal item—a broken quill, a page of parchment, a shattered watch face rimmed in gold—but there wasn’t a canteen or flask to be seen. Knitting his brows, he looked to the dirt between Anduin’s thighs; his heart leapt to his throat when he realized the tied-off pant leg on his right was soaked through with blood.

“Prince Anduin!” He yelped, shoving his turban scarf into his left hand as his right flew to the knot. He gave the fabric a tug, but when it didn’t yield, he shook off his glove and tore into it with his claw. 

“What—!” Anduin gasped, but when he followed Wrathion’s gaze to his knee he fell silent. Beneath tattered silk, blood flowed from torn stitches, blotting his skin like ink. Shuddering, he reached for it. Wrathion swatted his hand away.

“Anduin,” the dragon managed, though his own voice came a pitch higher than he had intended. “Please, if you don’t mind, I am going to need you to hold this to your head.”

Wrathion didn’t look up when he spoke, but he felt Anduin nod, and sensed his hand withdrawing to press, instead, against the cloth on his forehead. Without wasting another moment, Wrathion passed the scarf into his grasp, then slid down until his chest rested between Anduin’s knees.

He rolled up his pant leg. The human prince’s skin glowed pale under the faint red light of his eyes. He forced his lids open, his gaze fixed, and the muscles of his face pulled taut. “I am sorry to do this to you, my dear,” he murmured, and then, on his next inhale activated the glands in the back of his throat. Fire rushed through the small hole he created between his lips, pouring onto the human’s wound, blackening every rip and tear.

Anduin’s thigh went rigid under Wrathion’s grasp. His back arched, then slammed against the wall, and he hissed between gritted teeth. Wrathion’s gaze flicked up, and when their eyes met, he found Anduin’s pupils blown wide, bottom lip shaking, features contorted. The pain creasing his brow subsided, but it was swiftly replaced by something else. Fear, perhaps, or...disgust. A look Wrathion had seen more than once in his champions' eyes.

The dragon withdrew. His mouth snapped closed, and the wings that had issued from his shoulders when he used his powers crumpled against the wall. They both looked in opposite directions: Anduin with his chest heaving, and Wrathion with his hands clenched in his lap.

____________________

Running his claw-like nails along the stones, Wrathion felt out every crack and crevice. He paced from one pile of rubble to the other, circling the chamber a few times on every trip. He looked to the corners, tapped on the walls, and squeezed closed his eyes to listen to the vibrations humming through the mountain. Every time he brushed past the small fire he had stoked using the remnants of the palanquin, the flame flickered and danced, casting eerie shadows across Anduin’s watchful face.

As he stepped back into the passage leading to the wreck site, his pulse quickened, the walls narrowing in on him with every stride. His boots clicked as he leapt over a smear of blood on the ground. Swallowing, he plunged his hand between two rocks, flexing his fingers, and shattering them both with a jolt. The pile shifted. Behind him, something crashed to the floor.

“Wrathion!” Anduin squeaked. The shifting rustle of silk echoed from the connected chamber. “Wrathion, please. It isn’t safe.”

“Your Highness, please,” Wrathion tried to reassure him. “Don’t worry your head about it. I am the Earth-Warder. I should have no trouble getting thr—”

“The ceiling isn’t stable. Every time you move one of those rocks, something cracks or…or breaks,” the human’s voice jumped: in pitch and in volume. Reluctantly, Wrathion withdrew his hand, wiping it on his pants, then whirling around and heading into the chamber.

When he emerged, Anduin looked up and tensed in the corner. His head, wrapped in Wrathion’s now blood-stained turban, rose a few inches up the wall. Lips pursed, he glanced, pointedly, at the fallen rock in the center of the room. Shaking his head, Wrathion stepped around it. 

“And what do you suggest we do, my dear?” Sweeping a curl behind his ear, he headed to the other fall site, putting his back to Anduin. The human prince shifted and craned his head around the corner, but Wrathion didn’t turn to acknowledge him. 

“My flames may have stopped the bleeding, but without proper sanitation you will be susceptible to infection, increasingly so the longer we stay in this cave. As a healer, I am sure you are familiar with the risks that come with infection.”

“Of course, but—”

“Dear prince,” Wrathion interrupted, “Please. Allow me to work. Close your eyes and try to relax. With any luck, a few boulders are the only thing standing between us and my very capable agents, who will ferry us away before any harm comes to your delicate mortal form.”

Anduin inhaled audibly. The silence that followed was palpable. Wrathion’s chest tightened when he realized, once again, that his words may have been misconstrued, but he willed his muscles to relax. Leaning down, he shifted a rock to the side, then stacked another on top of it. Far on the other side he heard the hiss and crack of boulders shaking and resettling.

He narrowed his eyes and focused, envisioning the stack’s shape: its weaknesses, the places where air leaked between the seams. Straining onto his toes, he grabbed a jagged stone two-thirds up and pulled. Sand rained from the ceiling. A clod of dirt slid against Wrathion’s ankle, and then, with a crunch—

“Ouch!” A rock the size of a fist grazed Wrathion’s cheek. His mortal guise faltered, leaving a trail of brown scales singed where they had been struck. His left hand flew to his face, while his right tugged again at the stone, throwing another puff of dirt into the air. 

Coughing, he kicked the pile. “ _Fuck!_ ” He growled in rumbling Low Draconic before pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. 

“Wrathion, what’s going on?” Anduin’s voice rang out above his gagging and sputtering. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine, my dear,” the dragon managed. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“It doesn’t seem fine,” the human pointed out. Heat prickled at the nape of Wrathion’s neck. After another kick through the dirt, he spun on his heels, setting back off towards the chamber. When he lifted his gaze to the threshold, however, he froze, staring as Anduin’s pale fingers fumbled their way up the wall.

His face went cold, nausea crashing over him like an icy wave. His mouth fell open, but for a moment no sound escaped his tight throat. He had to dig his nails into his palms to stop his shoulders from shaking. 

“Prince Anduin!” He gasped after swallowing. “What are you doing? Please get back on the floor.”

The human’s face poked around the corner, his breath labored, and his cheeks streaked in reds and browns by the sweat that re-wet the stains. His blue eyes widened, then narrowed as he searched Wrathion from his feet to the scratch on his face. “I just feel useless. I can’t let you do all of this, while I lay on the ground in the dark…”

“You can and you will, my dear.” Wrathion hurried forward. His knees buckled with every step. He wasn’t sure why the thought of Anduin in danger shook him so deeply, but his heart didn’t stop pounding until he had his hand around the human’s waist and his weight leaning against his side. Anduin flinched and dug his fingers into the wall, but Wrathion gently tugged until those fingers uncurled. 

With a huff, Wrathion lowered him to the floor. Anduin stared up at him, face hot, and lips twisted into a frown. The dragon explained, more for his benefit than for Anduin’s: “The last thing we need is a dead crown prince on our hands. I’m sure you agree. Now, please, take care of yourself. Focus on staying warm. As night falls, the temperature will plummet. I will be quite all right, but you…”

“Surely they’ll send a search party when we don’t show at the monastery,” Anduin murmured, his eyes unfocused. It seemed Wrathion wasn’t the only one in need of assurance. “Surely we will be missed. Even if…”

The human’s lower lip trembled. Wrathion lifted his hand, desperate to stop that sentence before it spiraled them both to despair. “I believe they will come much sooner, as my guards and yours are likely out of their minds with worry. I simply want to make their job a bit easier.”

“…I guess you’re right.” Anduin’s hollow words hung in the silence that followed. The fire off to their left flickered and bathed the human’s face in shadows that aged him beyond his years. 

Wrathion turned and took a careful stroll around the room. He could feel Anduin’s eyes upon him, but he didn’t look at him when he spoke. “It seems we are in some kind of mortal-made chamber. The rocks are jagged, but I can feel disruptions in their compositions that speak to tools being used to cut them away. This isn’t some natural occurrence. It’s a mine, or a hideout, or perhaps a—”

“Shrine,” Anduin quipped. 

Wrathion paused, glancing over with eyebrows raised, “Oh? How do you know? Are your priestly urges speaking to you?”

“No, ah.” Instead of answering, Anduin withdrew the hand he had plunged in his rucksack and pointed to the opposite corner. Wrathion followed his finger, looking into the face of the garnet-eyed carving he had discovered when he first arrived. He flushed. His mouth fell open, then clenched closed. Anduin let out a gentle laugh, “Just a guess.”

“A fair guess,” Wrathion conceded, a sheepish grin twitching at the corners of his lips. “In any case, it must be a charted location. The grummles who travel these mountains will know where to look.”

“Hopefully better than they knew the strength of their roads.” The words felt like a joke, but they were spoken with such wistfulness Wrathion wasn’t sure. Abandoning his pacing, he stepped around the fire, then back towards Anduin’s bed.

The human lifted his head, then, after scooping a package from his lap, extended it in the dragon’s direction. “Spring rolls,” he explained, giving the ribbon sealing the satchel a pointed tug. “Harris bought them from Tong this morning.”

“Oh,” Wrathion’s crimson eyes darted down. He inhaled a shaky breath. “Oh, no, my dear. You eat them.”

The human’s eyes widened; his lips pressed into a line. “But there’s two,” he insisted.

“Really, I don’t need them.” Even as he declined, the pit of his stomach trembled and growled. He shook his head and straightened his shoulders. 

The human’s determined look, however, didn’t falter. He untied the knot, withdrew a single roll, and pressed its green-and-pink end to his lips. Never breaking eye contact, he resealed the bag and set it down on the tabard Wrathion had laid out beneath him. 

“Okay,” the human nodded and took a careful bite. He chewed, then swallowed, then continued in a soft voice, “But I’ll leave it here if you change your mind, all right?”

“I won’t,” Wrathion flicked his wrist and turned away. A rumble kicked up again in his lower abdomen, and a warmth spread through his chest. Stuffing both feelings down, he left the prince and disappeared into the adjacent passage.

____________________

The first problem that arose was the air, the fire choking and stifling the space. Wrathion reluctantly ground the flames out with the heel of his leather boot, kicking charred remains of the cart across the floor and cursing under his breath. It didn’t take long for a chill to set into the shadows, its icy grasp closing in on the two from all sides. Wrathion’s body temperature never faltered, but Anduin curled into the corner with every spare article of clothing they owned piled atop his chest.

Wrathion listened to his breathing weaken, listened to the hiss of a string of cracked prayer beads rolling between his thumb and forefinger. At times, it was difficult to tell if the clicks in the dark came from the rosary’s rattle or if it were his teeth knocking and grinding together.

The second, and perhaps related, challenge they faced was water. The fire left in its wake a heavy cloud, bitter on the tongue, and chafing against Wrathion’s lower lip. He licked and pursed and swallowed until his saliva ran dry. It didn’t take long for thirst to consume his mind, draining his strength and clouding his working thoughts. He sank down the wall facing Anduin and searched the darkness for the red reflection in his eyes.

“Are you awake, dear prince?” He whispered. 

On the other side of the room, the bead clicking picked back up. “Just dozed for a minute…” Anduin admitted, groggy and distant. 

“You really shouldn’t. I would prefer if you stayed awake.” _If you don’t, I worry you’ll never wake up._

“All right,” Anduin conceded, all will to argue long gone. “I’ll try.” 

“Thank you.” Hugging his arms to his chest, Wrathion cursed his pulse for quickening at the sound of the human’s sigh. What was he doing, agonizing over the single life of a mortal with no clear purpose or role to play in Azeroth’s furtherance? It was absurd, unheard of. Yet, as he pieced together his outline in the faint red light, the boy’s face, unhindered and unburdened, chuckling as he chatted with Tong over a cup of tea, filled his mind.

Leaning back and digging his shoulders into the wall, Wrathion let out a smoky breath. They lapsed into silence for a moment, and then Anduin asked, quietly, “Is it true you lived in Ravenholdt Manor?”

Wrathion’s eyes flew open. He straightened, replying without answering, “Why? Why do you ask?”

“Oh, sorry, it’s nothing.” The wrappings bobbed as Anduin shook his head. “I just heard your agents talking one day, and I was curious. If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“It’s all right,” Wrathion stopped him, uncrossing his arms, and lacing his claw-like fingers around his knees. “Yes,” he admitted. “I lived there for a time after I hatched. Sadly, it burned to the ground. A sacrifice I had to make, unfortunately, to ensure I continued to live free.”

Anduin nodded. When he spoke again, his voice rang clearer. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been difficult to say goodbye to a place like that.”

“What do you mean?”

The human shifted; the clothing draped over his lap crinkled as he squirmed his back up the wall. “I mean it sounds like an interesting place. I used to read books when I was younger about a network of spies and assassins working in the foothills of Hillsbrad. I’ve never been there, but I always pictured secret hideouts, and puzzles, and mysteries only the smartest rogue could work out.” With every word, his voice grew fainter. A shy laugh ended the thought, and he added, “This must sound silly, I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t all childish fancy, I’m afraid,” Wrathion replied, recalling a gnarled face or two that had peered across Fahrad’s table into his wide, crimson eyes. His stomach roiled; he wrinkled his nose. For a moment, he could smell the rum on their breath and the stench of mortal sweat pooling under their masks. “There were some rather unsavory types, and a few I never care to meet again.”

Anduin said nothing. For a moment, Wrathion worried he had fallen asleep, but then he leaned forward and pulled in his leg. Satisfied, the dragon continued:

“But it wasn’t all dreadful, of course. The wisest of them now serve as my Blacktalon, though they might not be keen on me telling you that.” ‘Why was he telling him this?’ He thought dimly, but he banished that prodding voice, and went on, “Lord Ravenholdt had quite a collection of books. I used to sit in the window and read, and gaze down into the gorge separating us from Alterac.”

“Did you ever cross over it?”

“Oh, no, I—” The dragon’s voice cracked, and he cut himself off. Coughing and pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he paused until he gathered enough saliva to wet his parched lips. Then, he tried again, raising his voice, “It wasn’t really in my best interest to go outside, I’m afraid, given who I was, and what my father was doing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. No one should be punished for their father’s crimes,” Anduin’s choice of words felt practiced, but his tone…genuine. Clear and musical, and earnest as he leaned forward and hugged the dragon’s tabard to his chest.

Wrathion’s jaw unclenched. He inhaled and studied Anduin’s face in the shadows. “I’m, ah—sorry if I startled you earlier. Had I known you were afraid of fire, I might not of—”

“No, that!” Anduin interjected. His voice fell, and he mumbled, “That, ah, that isn’t it. I didn’t mean to—”

“I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“—No, really, I’m sorry, Wrathion. I’m grateful you stopped the bleeding. It’s just, seeing you…well, it just caught me off guard, is all.”

With every stuttered word and hitch in the human’s breath, the chill that crept into Wrathion’s chest tightened around his heart. Clenching and unclenching his fingers, he stared down at his silk-clad thighs and whispered, “I know my flight has a sorted history with your family, as well. I apologize for failing to take that into consideration.”

“Wrathion,” Anduin said, his voice smoother now, soothing in its conviction. “You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing to apologize for. I was in shock. I didn’t even know I was bleeding. I’m…not afraid of you, anymore.”

The human’s final statement lingered for a moment. Wrathion lifted his head, and despite the cool stone pressing against his back, his body warmed, and his heart rate settled. It was such a small thing, and yet the weight hanging over him lessened, and he smiled. “It’s for the best, really,” he teased after a pause. “Though I’m quite formidable when angered, as I’m sure you know.”

Anduin chuckled, then shifted and set aside his prayer beads. “Ah, yes, I know. I’m sure that vermin who stole the last dumpling from your plate last week can attest to your strength and ferocity.”

“Sadly, there’s nothing left of him to tell the tale.”

“His ancestors will sing of the struggle, then. The brave vermin who fell robbing the last black dragon.”

“A ballad of woe, I am certain, best delivered in squeaks and sniffles.” 

Anduin giggled; Wrathion swiftly joined in. When the laughter subsided, Anduin rubbed his fingers between his brows and mumbled, “I keep seeing spots. I didn’t know this room could get any darker.”

“Hypothermia.” the dragon hated the weight of the word on the tip of his tongue. “As I’m sure you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Another deep pause swept between them. Biting his lower lip, Wrathion stared at the figure hunched just beyond the halo of his red light. Numb and short of breath, he dug his claws into the dirt on either side of his hips and sought the roots of the mountain, the hum of the rocks, the gold tunnels stretching down into Azeroth Herself, but the shiver and gasp of the boy resting across from him surpassed it all. One small, insignificant mortal life, and yet…

His eyes sparkled as they studied Wrathion in the dark. A few tears slipped down his bloody cheek, glittering, and splashing against his collar. The dragon wrenched his gaze away from them, fixing it, instead, a few inches above his head. He licked his bottom lip, and whispered, “May I come closer?”

“Yes.” Anduin didn’t hesitate. The white wrap on his head bobbed and swayed like a ghost. “Please.”

Leaning onto his hands and untucking his knees, Wrathion crawled forward, pausing a few inches short of the human’s outstretched leg. “Is this all right?” He asked again, shifting onto one hip and sidling up beside him. Flushing at the sudden, unfamiliar closeness, he hastily added, “My body runs warmer than yours. I thought, perhaps, if I sat next to you, I might—”

A hand on his side cut him off. The human’s palm was ice against the curve of his waist, his fingers rigid as his blue eyes darted down to their point of contact. At first, Wrathion made no move to return the gesture. He let Anduin deliberate, watching as he bit his lip, furrowed his brow, and then, finally, slid his arm across the dragon’s midsection. 

Cold and clammy though he was, the dragon leaned into his touch. His own arms unfurled and draped over Anduin’s shoulders, tugging him to his body. The human’s chin nestled against his chest, and his nails clutched at the thin silk of his undershirt, balling and twisting as if he were trying to drag himself into its folds. He clung, and Wrathion cradled him. His breath hitched, and he convulsed, a shiver clawing up his spine. 

Tightening his grip, Wrathion held him as shake after shake rocked his body. Resting his cheek against his bound head, he hushed him and stroked his back. Quaking finally faded to quivers, and quivers to shallow breaths that ruffled Wrathion’s curls. When the human’s eyes closed, the dragon found and followed his pulse: measuring every beat and driving back the dread that every thud might be the last.

He didn’t sleep. He let Anduin sleep for them both while he pressed his back to the wall and held the human against him. His gaze traveled from the opposite corner, to the shrine with its melted wax, then over to the debris spilling into the chamber. A weary fog settled over his eyes, but he wrenched them open, waiting, with Anduin in his arms, until a familiar green arm broke through the rubble and a shaft of cool morning light cut through the air.


End file.
